


Love Your Crooked Neighbor (With All Your Crooked Heart)

by lizardhair, reanimatorjuice



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Awkwardness, Broken Bones, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Feelings Realization, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mutual Pining, Negative Thoughts, Past Child Abuse, Roleplay, Scriddler, Victor Zsasz cameo, as in this is a copy-paste of our 1-on-1 rp, will get Explicit Eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizardhair/pseuds/lizardhair, https://archiveofourown.org/users/reanimatorjuice/pseuds/reanimatorjuice
Summary: When Jonathan first met Edward, he didn't like him. At all. But after Jon is injured during a heist, he has no choice but to accept the Riddler's help. In the confines of Edward's home, something blossoms...
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma, Scarecrow/Riddler
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So! As the tags say, this is a copy and paste of the one-on-one roleplay myself and Lizard have been doing for several months now. Therefore, you will see enough back and forth between perspectives to give you whiplash, and updates will likely be slow as not only do we already write a lot and take our sweet time with it, but we both have to write enough to constitute a chapter's worth. Thank you for your patience and we hope you enjoy!  
> \- Cillian :)

When he heard the door of his cell unlock with a distinct _thunk_ , Edward didn’t waste a moment. Mass breakouts didn’t happen often (at least, not as often as he would like), and when they did, it was every Rogue for themselves. As soon as the coast was clear, Ed slipped out of his cell and began heading for the nearest exit. If he was lucky, someone would have already cleared the path of guards.

Rounding the corner, Ed found that he was indeed fortunate: guards lay sprawled throughout the hallway, either unconscious or dead. He bent down to take a gun from one’s holster before continuing on. 

Down a flight of stairs and Ed heard mad laughter in the distance. He was quick to descend another flight.

He pressed himself into the shadows when he caught the stench of blood. An instant later and Ed spotted the source: a lone guard lying spread-eagled on the floor, throat slashed from ear to ear. Close by--far too close for comfort--was Victor Zsasz, serrated knife in hand. Ed slammed his own hand over his mouth to quiet his breathing. Zsasz’s hearing was always eerily keen, and Ed would not let his death be a tally mark upon the other man’s scarred flesh. After what felt like an eternity, Zsasz stalked away and Edward let out a shaky breath. “Just a little farther,” he whispered. 

Ed’s heart was still racing when he heard the screams. _Oh good_ lord, _what now?_ He was so  _ close  _ to freedom, and if it was the Bat up ahead...Well, Edward might as well just walk back to his cell and spare himself the beating. 

But as soon as Ed peered around the corner, he almost wished it _was_ Batman who he saw. _Damn. Damn, damn, damn._ A tall figure, bony even beneath the rough Arkham jumpsuit, stood backlit by an oddly dim bulb. The man (for Edward knew this was a man, had in fact _heard_ about this particular man) was surrounded on all sides by guards that writhed like worms on the ground, all of them shrieking and sobbing. Ed’s mouth felt very dry all of a sudden. _Scarecrow_.

“Fuck _me_ ,” Ed muttered. He jumped when Scarecrow’s eyes _(blue they’re so blue)_ appeared to focus on him. But it must have been a trick of the light--Scarecrow was studying the terrified Arkham employees at his feet. Gritting his teeth, Edward decided to do something foolish. 

He ran. Straight down the long hallway occupied by Scarecrow. A second before he turned the corner (and practically dove out of the broken emergency exit door just around it), Ed gave the Scarecrow a grin and a jaunty little salute, as if to say, _“see you on the outside.”_

And with that, the Riddler was gone.

* * *

Jonathan was bent over the toilet in his cell, pouring little by little of his precious fear toxin into a jar with a plastic spoon. Every material and every ingredient he was working with had been either stolen or traded for -- the jar was acquired after threatening another inmate for it, the L-DOPA, adrenaline, CRH, had taken months to collect through a chain of deals. And Arkham’s toilet was the only place Jonathan could comfortably (and he said that loosely) conduct his work. It was far from luxurious -- in fact, it was disgusting -- but when you were in Arkham, you worked with what you had.

The fumes wafted up into Jonathan’s face, but it didn’t affect him in the least. He’d grown immune to nearly every method of administration of his toxin, but that immunity hadn’t come easily. Jonathan recalled all the injections, the accidental inhalations, even ingestion once upon a time. 

When he’d scooped the last of the toxin into the container, he heard the sound of the lock on his cell door click open. His thought was somewhere between _Already_? And _Finally_.

Mass breakouts took planning, but when over half of the inmates were genuinely insane, that wasn’t easy. Jonathan himself had been lost in his thoughts before the sound of growing chaos shook him out of his intense focus. 

But he wasted no time now. Jonathan quickly got up, taking his toxin with him, and opened his cell door. Up and down the hallway were masses of inmates and guards throwing hands at one another. Immediately upon leaving his cell, Jonathan had to dodge an inmate slamming an Arkham employee’s face against the wall. He heard the guard’s nose crunch and saw blood drip onto the floor. 

Jonathan weaved through the crowds, hoping they would be too preoccupied with one another to attack him. Occasionally he had to step over a crumpled body on the floor, or was pushed by two inmates fighting each other. When all those in Arkham weren’t in a frenzy during a breakout, Jonathan was consciously avoided out of fear for what he’d do to them -- and he liked it that way -- but during a time like this, he could be thoughtlessly knocked out with a single punch. 

He turned the corner into another, narrower hallway that led toward the exit. Several guards blocked his way, ready to fight any inmate who tried to escape. Jonathan didn’t hesitate as he threw the jar of toxin at the ground by the guards’ feet. The jar shattered, and the toxin’s fumes quickly filled the small space. The effect was immediate.

The guards all gasped for air, their eyes watered and they clawed at their throats. Each stumbled backward and fell to the ground, some even curling up to protect themselves from whatever they saw. The hallway filled with their sounds of fear, and Jonathan reveled in it. He knew he needed to leave, and quickly, but he couldn’t stop himself from walking closer to the guards and just standing there, soaking in their undiluted fear. He looked down at the screaming, writhing guards coldly, but inside, his heart raced. He hardly noticed as another inmate ran past him. Jonathan only looked up to see a man he’d been told about before, Nygma, give him a little wave. 

“See you on the outside,” he’d said. 

Jonathan hoped not.

* * *

**Two months later**

Edward knew his night had been going too well. He’d gotten what he had come here for, hadn’t even been _noticed_ , but _now_...now there was someone else here. _Here_ , when all his sources and data had said the building would be _empty_ at this time of night.

_ This wouldn’t have happened if you’d left the Bat a riddle, _ murmured the unpleasant little voice which lived in Ed’s head.

“Shut  _ up,”  _ Ed snapped back at it, barely able to maintain a whisper. “The positive outcome of my heists is _not_ dependant on my leaving a metaphorical trail of goddamn question marks for Batman to follow. That is _illogical_.”

_ Says the man talking to the voice in his head. _

Ed was considering banging his head against a wall--loss of brain cells be damned--when he heard the sound again. It was the sound of shuffling, of fabric brushing against tile. And it was nearby. 

_Think_ , Edward instructed himself. _Calm down and think._ He could backtrack, go out the same way he had come in, but that would put him in the path of the security guard whose shift had just started. He could...well, he could see what (or who) was up ahead making enough noise to wake the lightly-dozing dead.

With a quiet curse, Ed realized that those were his only real options. _And I don’t like either of them._ Still, between a security guard armed with a gun and the unknown variable blocking the exit, Ed preferred the devil he didn’t know.

Tightening his grip on his cane, Edward crept forwards.

* * *

  
  


The plan had been simple.

Get in, get what he came here for, and get out. At this point, Jonathan had done so many heists that it was supposed to be child’s play. Fate had other ideas for him, though.

Jonathan had injected one of the guards with fear toxin, but in their terror, they had pushed him backwards and over the railing that looked over the second floor to the first. The fall wasn’t exceptionally high, but Jonathan was not a young man, and he had landed awkwardly. 

It took a moment to register, but Jonathan swore he’d heard a snap, and with that followed a painful throbbing in his shin, and lightning-hot heat travelled up his leg. He hissed through his teeth and instinctively went to wrap his hand around the hurt area, but it only aggravated it further. The pain was so intense that Jonathan knew he’d pass out if he even tried standing. 

Determined, though, Jonathan dragged himself closer to the exit using his upper body. His lower leg twisted awkwardly, and he couldn’t help but let out a yelp. 

He let out a small gasp, but nearly put a hand over his mouth to muffle his breathing as he heard footsteps behind him. It was too late, though — they were coming towards him. 

“Who’s there?” He called, trying to sound threatening. “Don’t think I won’t use my toxin in you.”

He felt like a sad, wounded animal that threatened to bite when backed into a corner. But wasn’t that what he was? Humans are just animals after all, and Jon still had fight in him, even when he was on the floor. And it was true — Jonathan wrapped his hand tightly around the syringe of toxin, his thumb on the plunger flange.

* * *

  
  


That _voice_. Edward knew that voice. He’d heard it in Arkham. _And once in a dream...or was that a nightmare?_

Ed shook his head. _What a thought to have at a time like this._

Steeling himself (and gripping his cane all the tighter), Ed called out, “Scarecrow?” He winced at his own questioning tone--who _else_ would threaten the use of toxin? 

* * *

  
  


“Fuck,” Jonathan spat, “Not you. Nygma?” 

He hadn’t known the man long, or really at all, but he sure as hell wouldn’t give the man satisfaction by calling him Riddler. 

“Leave me alone. I’d rather get dragged back to Arkham by Batman.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be _rude_ ,” Edward said lightly as he stepped into Scarecrow’s line of view. Still, he kept his distance from the other man: fear toxin was no laughing matter, and Ed didn’t like to think about what he might see under its influence. “So, what’s a guy like you doing in a place like--”

Ed felt the blood drain from his already-pale face when he noticed Scarecrow’s mangled leg. “You’re hurt. What happened?”

The truth to that question was rather embarrassing.

“An occupational hazard, that’s what happened,” he gritted through his teeth, “Now I said, ‘Leave me alone.’ I’ll get out of this myself.”

He attempted to pull himself up, but the pain was far too strong. He collapsed back onto the ground and gasped.

  
  


Edward took a step towards Scarecrow before he caught himself. _”Do not approach, extremely dangerous”_ was on the man’s wanted poster, after all.

“And how do you intend to do _that_ , Scarecrow?” Ed settled on saying. He checked his watch. “You have less than five minutes to get yourself out of here before the guard’s route leads him to where you are currently laying, and with all due respect…” Ed pulled a face at the man’s leg. “I don’t believe you’re going to manage that within your timeframe.” _Or ever. You can’t even stand._

Jonathan clenched his jaw in anger. He detested the fact that Nygma was right. Part of him hadn’t been lying when he said he’d rather end up in Arkham, but the other half knew that he’d be a sitting duck with a broken leg in a mental asylum. 

“Fine,” he grunted. “But a word of this to anyone, and I swear, I’ll kill you.” He gave the Riddler the most deadly stare he could drudge up, and hoped that his eyes weren’t clouded with pain too.

  
  


Ed swallowed roughly. “I don’t doubt that you would.” He tried not to fault himself for being afraid of Scarecrow-- _anyone with a_ brain _would be scared of the man, after all._

After clearing his throat, Ed said,  “Do try not to dose me whilst I get you upright, please.” He held out a purple-gloved hand for Scarecrow to take.

Jonathan grabbed Nygma’s hand roughly, and rather tightly before gripping the upper sleeve on Edward’s suit with the other hand and awkwardly tried to lift himself up, using Edward like a crutch more than a person trying to help. 

He held back any pained sounds that tried to escape, but he couldn’t help but grimace. 

“No promises,” Jonathan huffed. Dosing someone was practically a reflex at this point, like blinking or breathing.

  
  


Ed had to dig his heels in, teetering for a moment before regaining his balance. Given that Scarecrow was skin and bones, he wasn’t particularly heavy, just… _lanky_. There was a lot of limb to be considered. When Ed stole a glance at Scarecrow’s face, he couldn’t help but notice the pinched expression.

“I’m sorry,” Edward said before he could think better of it. He figured someone like Scarecrow didn’t appreciate pity, didn’t _deserve_ pity, but Rogues had to stick together. Sometimes, at least. 

Exhaling through his teeth, Ed pulled Scarecrow up enough to sling one of the man’s arms around his own shoulders. “My apologies. I know it hurts, but I don’t mean to hurt you.” He felt like he was trying to soothe a wild animal, now. _And I suppose I am, in a way._

  
  


“Don’t apologize for me, Nygma, I don’t want your pity,” Jonathan already felt bad enough himself, having his own toxin backfire, causing him to break his leg and force him to get help from the fucking Riddler of all people. “....Just get us out of here. You said we had five minutes, didn’t you?”

Jon limped forward, placing all his weight on his good leg. If he and Nygma didn’t move together in the right way, Jon would crumple onto the floor again, and he didn’t want anyone to see him scream in pain. Screaming was a bad look for him.

  
  


Ed sighed inwardly. “Three minutes now, and the clock is ticking.” He shuffled forward alongside Scarecrow, careful to hold him steady. “I have a car waiting outside. We just have to get to it.” 

_And then what?_ asked Ed’s nasty little voice. _Are you really going to take Scarecrow back to one of your hideouts? Be alone with him and his toxin? You’re practically_ begging _for a needle in your neck…_

Ed bit his lip and kept moving forward.

  
  


Jon nodded. He thought about making a biting comment about going back to Nygma’s place, but he was too tired and in too great of pain to fight anymore. And if he actually convinced the man to take him back to his own hideout, well then it wouldn’t be a hideout anymore then, would it? He couldn’t have Nygma deciding to swing by and knock on his door any time he pleased.

So Jon bit his tongue and kept going. When he reached the car he slid inside as carefully as he could. His leg didn’t appreciate it nonetheless, and he winced.


	2. Chapter 2

Once Scarecrow was settled, Ed slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The car was old, unremarkable, and not at all the kind of thing the Riddler would be driving around in. Which was, of course, the point.

An uncomfortable (at least to Edward) silence fell within the car as Ed steered it out of the lot. He drummed his fingers on the wheel for only a few seconds before managing to annoy himself. With the adrenaline from the heist still running through him, Ed was finding it hard to relax. *I suppose the presence of my soon-to-be roommate isn’t doing me any favors, either.* 

As much as he wanted to glance over at Scarecrow, Ed kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. “So...what were you out for tonight? Chemicals? Certainly not test subjects…”

  
  


Jon gave the man a sideways glance. “Were we at ACE? No. Even I need money, Nygma.” He waved a hand, “I have goons to pay, delicate methods of toxin distribution that need construction, and so on.” 

Jonathan preferred that Nygma keep his mouth shut, especially with his leg in so much pain, but he was in Nygma’s car and going to his lair. There wouldn’t be any good in making him angry.

  
  


At this point, Ed had no idea why he was attempting to make small-talk with Scarecrow. He knew he should just shut up and drive, but he had  _ questions _ . He was... _ concerned _ . Ed pushed the implications of that to the back of his mind and said,

“Though I suspect the answer is “exceedingly painful,” social protocol forces me to ask: how is your leg feeling?”

  
  


“It feels like someone stuck a white-hot iron in my leg and twisted it. I can feel the bones grinding against each other.” Jonathan gritted out. He tried to hold as still as possible, but occasionally his leg reflexively twitched. 

He decided to turn the subject away from him. “Why are you helping me, anyway?”

  
  


_ Ah, just what I hoped you weren’t going to ask, _ thought Ed. Out loud he said, “Though whatever is left of my morality wishes that I could tell you, “because we Rogues have to stick together!” the truth of the matter is that you were on my way to the exit.” 

Ed made a sudden turn down an alley. “And while I could simply have run past you and gone on my merry way…” He shrugged. “There would have been fear toxin waiting for me when next we met, yes?” 

_ And yet, I wouldn’t have faulted you for holding a grudge. _

  
  


Jonathan grumbled but didn’t answer. No matter what he wanted to say, he couldn’t argue with that. 

He watched them turn into a narrow alley. “Where are you taking us? I didn’t take you for a man to live in a dirty abandoned warehouse like the ‘rest of us.’” Jon couldn’t come off as growing too soft.

  
  


“I, well--” Ed coughed. “I live  _ near _ one. I rented an apartment under a false name some time ago and--” A terrible realization hit Ed like a fist to the face. “--And I live on the second floor.”

He parked the car and sighed, looking at the rickety stairs that led up to his front door. “Damn it.”

  
  


Jon looked at him over the rims of his glasses, “Nice, Nygma. ‘Smartest Man in the World’ my ass.” 

Why had this been a good idea again? Jon should’ve gone with his gut and gone to his own place. He may live among the rats and the roaches, but at least he wouldn’t have to go up..... that.

  
  


There was nothing Edward could say to that. He dropped his forehead to the steering wheel for a moment, then dragged himself out of the car.

Ed contemplated simply walking into Gotham Bay and letting himself drown.  _ At least that would save me any further embarrassment. _ It was almost tempting. Almost.

“Come on,” Ed said, swinging Scarecrow’s door open. He held an arm out. “Let’s get this over with.”

  
  


Jonathan avoided Nygma’s arm and instead reached out with both hands and grabbed the outer rim of the car door. He swung his lower body over to get out, but couldn’t avoid hitting his dangling leg on the edge when he tried lifting it over. “Goddd,” he ground out. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he held them back well. 

His good leg hit the ground, and he lifted himself up the rest of the way. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.” 

He finally wrapped an arm around Nygma’s shoulder to keep balance.

  
  


As gently as he could, Ed turned them to face the stairs. He gave Scarecrow time to adjust, then followed his lead towards the building. Ed focused on keeping the injured man upright; physical exertion made a decent distraction from the thoughts swirling in his head.

But as they reached the bottom of the staircase, there was something Ed had to say:

“I can’t call you by your alias forever, Scarecrow. Not if we’re going to be… _ living together. _ ” Ed cast his eyes upward at the door, at the wretched path that led to it,  _ anywhere _ but at the man who was using him for support. “What’s your name? Your  _ given _ name, that is; I know your surname.”

  
  


Jonathan sighed, focusing on the steps he took. “You can call me Jonathan, or Jon. Preferably Jonathan, and  _ never _ Johnny. Call me Johnny and I’ll snap your neck.” 

He hated the name. The people back in Arlen called him that...

“And I suppose I’ll have to start calling you Edward. Though ‘Nygma’ suits you better.” 

They finally reached the stairs. Jon let go of Edward and grabbed the railing instead. He cast a withering glance at the other man before hopping up the stairs on one foot.  _ I must look absolutely ridiculous, _ Jon thought. Though he avoided the other leg, each time he moved, a sharp pain shot through his body.

  
  
  


“Nygma, Edward, Ed, Eddie…” Ed waved a hand. “So long as it is a variation upon my name, you may call me what you wish.”  _ Just don’t call me stupid. _ He raised an eyebrow at what Jonathan was both saying and doing.

“First of all, you  _ could _ just allow me to help you. It would at least look less suspicious.” That, and Ed couldn’t help but wince at every jostle of Jon’s leg. “And  _ secondly _ ,” he continued before the other man was able to get a word in, “Why--in your professional opinion--does “Nygma” suit me better than “Edward,” precisely?”

  
  


“Don’t touch me — I can help myself.” The awkwardness of having his arm wrapped around Edward was almost too much to bear, but maybe he was the only one who felt that. Who cared. 

He gave a small shrug before jumping to the next step. “You’re just the type who’s more easily referred to by their last name. You know the type? They’re usually infuriating, not deserving of being called their first.” Jonathan was a teacher once, he knew. The jocks were always referred to by their last name. It was just.... a thing that people did, right?

  
  


“I…”

_ “Is that Nashton’s kid?” _

_ ”There goes the Nashton boy again.” _

_ ”Hey, Nashton! C’mere, you little f--” _

Ed swallowed. “...I know the type.” He stared over the railing, looking down at the cracked pavement below. Ed didn’t like how easily Scarecrow’s--Jonathan’s--words could get under his skin. They were like little burrowing insects, making themselves at home in his flesh even when he tried to scratch them out. And Ed knew the wounds they caused would fester.

He was afraid that some part of him wanted that. Ah, but speaking of wounds...

“So, what are you going to need to patch yourself up?”

“Ah... a splint, maybe crutches if you can get them. And pain medication for sure — strong pain medication. It’s fractured, and it hurts like hell.” 

He finally reached the top of the stairs. “Now where’s your place?”

  
  


“Third door to the left,” said Edward. He fished his key out of an inner pocket, reviewing his mental catalog of the items within his first-aid kit.

“Pain medication, several bottles of differing strengths; isopropyl alcohol, two bottles; gauze; bandages, 100 count; scissors; disposable sterile gloves, 20 pairs; antiseptic wipes, 15 count; thermometer--” 

Ed only realized he’d been talking out loud when he turned the key in the lock. To his immense horror, he felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. Hoping that Jonathan would follow his lead, Ed resolutely ignored it and swung the door open, saying,

“Come on in, then.”

  
  


Jonathan was about to ask Edward to think his list of first aid to himself before he’d cut himself off. It had clearly been an accident since he watched as the other man flushed. He decided not to mention it, as Edward welcomed him into his home and had decided not to poke fun at Jonathan for hopping up the stairs on one foot. Let’s say he returned the courtesy. 

Though Jonathan clenched his jaw, and held out an arm to signal that he needed Edward’s assistance again now that they’d reached the top of the stairs. He’d nothing to hold onto anymore. 

“Um, Edward...”

  
  


“Hm? Oh!” Ed hurried back to the stairs, wondering what in the world had gotten into him. Reaching for Jonathan’s arm, he decided to chalk it up to fatigue and an unexpected, scarecrow-shaped kink in his otherwise perfectly-executed break-in.

_ That, and the fact that you didn’t leave a riddle, _ chirped the nasty little voice in Edward’s head.  _ And you _ always  _ have to leave a riddle, you have to, you have to, you h-- _

_ “Enough,” _ Ed hissed, not noticing how tightly he gripped Jonathan’s proffered limb. When reality crashed into him a moment later, Ed felt his heart drop.

“E-enough,” he added lamely, “Of these damn stairs.”

  
  


Jonathan looked at him strangely. “...Okay. Agreed.” Serious mental issues. Jonathan thought, Noted. He’d assumed as much about Nygma from what he’d heard, but living with him could make for a potentially good observational study. The information could be useful in the future. 

And with that, Jon allowed Edward to lead him into his apartment.

* * *

Moving quickly, Ed flicked on the lights, shut the door, and locked the deadbolt. It was useless against any Bats that might come knocking, of course, but it would keep the rest of the rabble out.

Now that the room was no longer shrouded in darkness, Ed’s rather stark apartment appeared all the starker. Nearest the door there was a couch, an armchair, and a wobbly-looking coffee table, all facing a basic TV. A fridge hummed quietly in the connected kitchen. 

Ed took a deep breath and made a face, taking a mental note to open a window in the morning: the apartment smelled a bit musty, though it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. 

“This is one of my lesser-used hideouts,” he said by way of explanation. “I tend to pitch my proverbial camp at my warehouse, so this place ends up being neglected.” Ed loosened his tie. “Still, I prefer to have options...and access to a proper shower.

“At any rate, the bedroom and bathroom are down this way,” said Ed, gesturing to a short hallway across from where he and Jonathan had entered. “The bed is a king, so even you should be able to stretch out and sleep.”

  
  


“Nice place,” Jonathan said, and most of him meant it. It was true that most of the rogues lived in squalor. Croc lived in a sewer for pity’s sake. 

“The bedroom’s this way?” Jonathan pointed, hoping Edward would get the hint and help him there. Jon was in pain, and exhausted. Any first aid work they had to do could be done with him laying down. Didn’t hurt to at least try and be comfortable, did it?

  
  


Ed nodded and took the hint. As the two made their way down the hallway, Edward silently mourned the loss of his rather comfortable bed. He was not at all looking forward to sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future; Ed could already feel his weaker knee crying in protest.

_Perhaps Jonathan and I could simply share the bed,_ Ed thought. _We’re both grown men after all, not libidinous teenagers._

But the sudden image of he and Jonathan laying next to each other like a couple of awkward sardines was too much for Ed’s overtired brain to bear, and he couldn’t help laughing as he turned on the bedside lamp.

“Make yourself comfortable, Jonathan,” Ed chuckled, swaying on his feet. “Though do try and get as little and as few of your bodily fluids on my sheets as possible, if you’d be so kind.” He teetered forward for a moment, just managing to save himself (and Jonathan) from falling by grabbing the nightstand. “I’ll go fetch the first aid kit once you’re settled.”

  
  


Jonathan sat on the bed and groaned as he turned to lay back. “Can’t promise anything.” Of course he wouldn’t get any “bodily fluids” on the bed. His leg was broken, but thankfully there was no blood to be seen. 

As for the bed, it was the most comfortable thing Jonathan had laid on in a while. Jon tended to get the cheapest, most bare bone necessities. 

But then a thought popped into his head. “Wait — if I’m staying here, where will you be sleeping?”

  
  


“Ah…” Ed busied himself with undoing his tie, eyes pointedly averted to watch his own nimble fingers work at the fancy knot. “Well, there is of course the couch, but...I see no reason why we cannot share the bed. It’s certainly large enough for the two of us, even with the additional space needed for your injured leg.”

Ed set his tie on the nightstand and at last dared to meet Jonathan’s eyes. “As much as my knee would appreciate not being relegated to the couch, it’s up to you where I sleep. I don’t want to make my guest feel uncomfortable.”

  
  


Jon was deeply uncomfortable with the thought of sleeping in the same bed as Edward, but even he did not have the heart to make the man sleep on the couch in his own home, especially after he’d been kind enough to help Jonathan try and recover from his injury. 

Jon looked away from Edward’s gaze, instead focusing intently on picking at a loose thread from the bedsheet. “Uhm...yes, I suppose there’s no reason why we couldn’t. We’re both mature adults, after all. You can stay in your own bed, Edward.”

  
  


“Thank you,” Edward professed without thinking. He felt another damn blush coloring his cheeks, and spun on his heel to open his closet--and hide his face.

“Um, the first aid kit is in here somewhere,” said Ed as he crouched down. He had to duck his head to avoid getting a faceful of hanging dress shirts (the majority of which were either black, white, or some shade of purple) and trousers (either green or black). Ed swatted one of his few jumpsuits out of the way and tried to fight the thought that Jonathan was analyzing him while his back was turned.  _ How much can you tell about a person by the contents of their closet, I wonder? _

A bit of lint caused Ed to sneeze. “Pardon me.” A pause. “So...are you going to need pajamas? Something to sleep in?”

  
  


The contents of Edward’s closet were actually unsurprising to Jonathan. In fact, he’d expected far more green than there already was. 

And as for Edward himself, Jon genuinely wondered if he had a chronic blushing condition. In comparison to himself, Edward seemed to do that quite often. 

Jon came back to attention at Edward’s question. “I’d rather not sleep in this burlap sack of a costume. If you have anything to spare...” He wondered if Edward’s clothes would even fit him. Jon was taller, and thinner.

  
  


“I’m sure I can find something,” said Ed. He picked up a pair of workboots, having finally spied the first aid kit on the floor behind them. With a tug, Ed extracted both himself and the kit from within the closet.

“Here you are,” he said as he placed the rather large case on the bed next to Jonathan. “There’s more in there than what I, ah, listed off earlier, so you ought to be all set.” Ed stifled a yawn. “I’ll acquire your crutches in the morning.”

Jonathan opened the case and pulled out what he needed. He stopped for a moment. “You might, uh, need to help me with the splinting part. I also need to...remove my costume before we do that...which I, unfortunately, may also need assistance with.”

His scarecrow outfit was starting to itch. Actually, it always itched — it was burlap. He didn’t want it clinging to his skin for the next couple weeks  _ (oh god) _ underneath the splint. 

This wasn’t going to be a fun time for either of them.

  
  


Ed swallowed. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before just how  _ much _ Jonathan would need assistance with?

“R-right,” stuttered Ed. “Ah, before that, though…” Turning, he pulled one more thing out of the closet: a cable-knit sweater, dark emerald green and quite expensive-looking. “Harley stole this for me some time ago, but it’s just a bit too large for me to wear properly.” Ed held it out to Jonathan. “For you, however, it ought to be a good fit.”

  
  


Green wasn’t Jon’s color (though he wouldn’t admit to having a color), but he nodded his thanks to Edward and took it. 

The costume came in several pieces — Jonathan removing the stitched-together coat first, then the noose, then his gloves. He pulled the shirt over his head, suddenly feeling very self conscious about having his ghostly pale skin exposed. He knew that every rib was visible beneath his skin. Edward couldn’t see it from his standpoint, but Jonathan’s back was marred by many scars from years of abuse. Too many scars to have been dealt by Batman alone. 

...Edward had been right, the sweater did fit him perfectly, and it was soft. The moment of contentment was over quick though as Jon once again focused on his leg, and how they should go about removing his pants. He began removing his shoes and socks, moving carefully with his broken leg. Cautiously, Jon turned so that his legs dangled over the side of the bed. Getting his pants off actually turned out to be easier than he’d expected, though they were quite form-fitting. 

After stripping, Jon sat awkwardly on the bed in his boxer briefs and Ed’s sweater. He had not yet been given pants, and the splint needed to go on first anyway. He looked down and grimaced at the unnatural protrusion from his right shin. It was definitely fractured. 

“You might even need to set it,” Jonathan thought out loud.

  
  


Ed had intended to turn his back while Jonathan was undressing, and it was for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp that he did not. Instead, he watched as more and more of the man’s pallid skin was revealed, prominent bones both whole and broken included. 

It was only when Jonathan began to remove his trousers that Ed forced himself to move. He slipped out of his suit jacket and replaced it on its hanger, tucking it into the closet before facing Jonathan once again.

_ Oh, _ thought Ed as soon as he had.  _ Oh, he’s-- _ Ed bit the inside of his cheek in a vain attempt to not think of Jonathan Crane as  _ attractive. _ But it was too late. Seeing him there, dressed so casually, sitting on Edward’s own  _ bed _ as though he might lay down and welcome Ed to sit and read next to him…  _ Oh, _ Ed thought again.  _ Oh, this is bad, isn’t it? _

It was a moment too late that Jonathan’s words registered. Ed actually felt the pink blush that had been coloring his cheeks drain, leaving behind what was sure to be an ashen expression.

“Y-you’re talking to yourself, yes? Not saying that _I_ may have to…” Ed trailed off, green eyes fixed on Jonathan’s leg.

  
  


“Well,  _ I _ can’t do it,” Jon said, and he meant it. His hands were already shaking, and he didn’t think his brain would allow Jon to harm himself, even if he was trying to set the bone back to its original place. 

Also, his legs were long and he was not the most flexible man. He had.... excuses.

  
  


“Jonathan, I...I  _ can’t _ .” Ed’s stomach was doing flips at the very thought. “I--I don’t know  _ how, _ I could make it  _ worse--”  _ He dropped down on the edge of the bed, pressing a hand over his mouth. 

  
  


Jon watched as Edward nearly hurled at the thought. “Alright, geez, you don’t have to. Guess I’ll do it.” He wouldn’t like it, but if he did it fast, it’d be like ripping off a bandaid, right? 

He didn’t really know how to do this… leaning forward, he took two hands and placed them on both parts of his leg where he felt the two pieces of the fractured bone were. Jon’s heart was racing, and his hands were still shaking. He took a deep breath and let it out through his mouth, “Okay, here we go,” he whispered to himself, “One, two, three,” and at three, he pushed the protruding bone down and heard a sickening, almost crunch sound. The pain was.... unimaginable.

“FUCK!” Jonathan yelled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!!  _ Godfuckingdamn.”  _

He let go of his leg and shook his hands like he’d touched something hot, since he didn’t know what else to do to stop the pain. His leg felt like it was pulsating. He fell back and clenched his teeth. “Fuckkk...” 

He didn’t dare move his lower body, despite being in an uncomfortable position. He breathed in and out quickly. “Alright Edward, get the fuckin’ splint. Let’s get this goddamn shit over with.”

  
  


Ed didn’t-- _ couldn’t _ \--look at Jonathan as he dragged himself up off of the bed and over to a small dresser on the other side of the room. Only one of the drawers had clothes in it; the rest contained all the various items that a costumed criminal might need. Ed grabbed the material for the splint, still unable to look at Jonathan even as he handed it over to him.

_ Coward, _ whispered that small, nasty voice in Edward’s head.  _ Useless coward. Cheated your way out of being a man and made your poor little crush mangle himself. Pathetic _ .

Ed collapsed on the bed’s edge once again, head bowed. “I-I’m sorry Jonathan, you should have just...just  _ forced _ me to do it.”

  
  


Jonathan stopped grumbling to himself about his leg and looked at Edward from over the rims of his glasses, then fixed his gaze so he could see him more clearly. He took the splint and gauze from Edward. 

“I’m a vile, evil man, Edward — I’ll admit it. But I couldn’t allow myself to force you to vomit at even the thought of doing something that I could do myself in the end. Don’t worry about it. I’m still alive, obviously.” 

Actually, he didn’t think he needed Edward’s help for this part. Jon bent the splint and placed each half on both sides of his lower leg, the middle section of the splint going around under his foot. 

“Ed, I need a hand wrapping the gauze around to keep the splint in place. Careful, now.”

  
  


Ed studied his own hands as Jonathan spoke, willing them to stop shaking.  _ Breathe _ , he instructed himself.  _ Jonathan is fine, and he will only improve once his leg has been splinted. _

_ Oh yes, never mind that you showed weakness--showed _ fear _ \--while in the presence of Scarecrow, _ tittered the little voice.  _ Still, at least you know he has a heart, cold as it may be. That will make it a bit easier to betray him if (or rather when) you need to. _

“Ridiculous,” Ed muttered at the voice. He coughed. “Ah,  _ I’m _ being ridiculous.” Finally looking up at Jonathan, Ed took the roll of gauze from him. “Thank you. For...ehm, well, you know what for.”

Then Ed realized something.

“You called me ‘Ed’ just now, Jonathan.” He fought the sudden urge to grin as he meticulously wrapped the strip of gauze around the other man’s leg. “How positively  _ amicable _ of you.”

* * *

  
  


Jonathan watched Edward wrap his leg. The pounding ache was already starting to fade. “Eh, don’t get used to it, Edward.” He grinned, mostly to himself. Harley was wrong, he could be good-humored sometimes. 

Edward had shown fear, but Jon was too focused on his pained leg to read into it any further than squeamishness at a broken bone, which was something just about everyone had. What would his fear toxin make Edward see? Probably something far worse than setting someone’s limb. Jonathan briefly wondered what then. He would find out sooner or later, if the need arose, of course. 

“Ever broken a bone? I’d be surprised if not.” Despite being visibly older, Jonathan had not been a rogue as long as Edward had. Therefore, it was Jon’s assumption that the Riddler had more run-ins with Batman than him. As he’d told Ed, injuries were an occupational hazard.

  
  


“I’ve had quite a few broken,” was Ed’s nonchalant reply. “Various bones in both arms at different times, multiple times.” He paused, focusing on straightening a bit of gauze. “Though my collarbone was the most painful, second only to my knee. But  _ that _ injury was not caused by the Bat, so I suppose it does not count in our morbid tally count.”

Ed leaned back and adjusted his legs. After having to support the extra weight of an injured man, the aforementioned knee was acting up. “How’s the splint feeling?”

  
  


Jonathan rested a hand on it gently. “Not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it’s doing its job.” 

He covered his mouth and yawned. “Time for bed, I think. No point in me getting up just to get under the covers though. Too much of a strain..... Have a throw blanket I can use?” 

It might make the fact that they were sleeping in bed together a little less awkward. No accidentally getting tangled up together by morning, no sir. Jon mentally swatted the thought away.   
  


Ed supposed Jonathan was right. It would be best for them to avoid any accidental contact during the night, especially with the recently-discovered attraction towards Jonathan that Ed was trying to...to what? To manage? To hide? To rid himself of?

Ed didn’t know, and Ed disliked not knowing. He would have to sleep on the issue for now, perhaps take time to meditate in the morning. 

“There’s a blanket in the hall closet,” Ed said, rising to his feet. “I’ll--!”  _ ‘Go fetch it’  _ was what Ed had intended to say, though he found himself cut off by his knee giving out. The dysfunction sent him to the floor; agony kept him there.

_ “Fuck _ you,” Ed spat, chest heaving.  _ “Fuck you.” _ He seemed to have forgotten Jonathan entirely. “Fucking…” His voice broke.  _ “Bastard.” _

  
  


Jonathan watched the other man collapse and tried to look over the edge of the bed to see Edward lying there. The emotion Jonathan felt could only be described as extremely confused, and maybe a little guilty. Had he asked too much of Edward? This was an.... odd development. 

“....Edward? You alright?” He asked. Obviously not, but it felt like the right thing to say in the situation. He hadn’t seemed angry or upset just moments before. Was he mad at Jonathan at all?

  
  


At the sound of Jonathan’s voice, Ed’s rage vanished as quickly as it had arrived, leaving only a grey emptiness behind.

“I’m fine,” he said. His words felt hollow. So did his body. “This happens sometimes.” Ed rubbed his knee. “I just wasn’t...expecting it at the moment. Wasn’t prepared.”

Unfocused gaze on the floor, the only thing Ed could think was how it needed to be vacuumed.  _ Funny how the brain works at times like this. _

“I apologize for concerning you, Jonathan.” Ed wiped at his eyes with a shirtsleeve; given how numb his face was, he would not have been surprised to find that he had been crying without having noticed it. 

His sleeve came away dry. That was good. 

Moving slowly, Ed pushed himself to his feet. His knee clicked as he did, its staccato protest almost certainly loud enough for Jonathan to hear.  _ Not that it matters at this point, _ Ed thought.  _ He’ll know everything about me sooner or later anyway. _

But that was fine. Ed couldn’t be an enigma forever, not to the psychiatrist-turned-villain that was quite literally sharing his bed.

Ed sighed.

  
  


Jonathan shook his head. “I apologize if I’ve pushed you past your limit. You can say, if so.” Concerned? Jonathan wasn’t concerned. He was a hardened criminal. At least, he was supposed to be. He was supposed to like pushing people past their limit — that was Scarecrow’s thing.

Whether Edward already had a bad knee or not, certainly essentially carrying Jon up the stairs and now taking care of him wasn’t going to help it. He felt bad, a bit, but on the other hand there wasn’t much he could do. His leg was broken.

  
  


Ed glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. “My limit? Hm, I wonder what that is...”

There was a strange look in Ed’s emerald-green eyes, something both sad and amused. Then he blinked and it was gone.

“I’ll be back with the blanket in a moment,” he said, strolling out of the bedroom. “Turn down the covers for me, won’t you?”   
  


Jonathan did so, wondering all the while why Edward was so... strange. And why Jonathan cared about that. Perhaps it was just the old psychiatrist in him coming out — trying to solve people’s problems. He’d sworn long ago to never care for another person in any way ever again, but no man was strong enough to completely push his humanity away. Not entirely.

Jonathan leaned back and rested his head on the pillow. He removed his glasses, and with a sigh, rubbed his eyes with his index and thumb. Things were changing, and he could feel it.


	3. Chapter 3

Once Ed had forced the closet door open (it was always a bit sticky), he gathered up the blanket, paused, and grabbed a spare pillow for Jonathan’s leg.  _ Just in case, _ he thought.

Making his way back to the bedroom, Ed hoped that the blanket would be warm enough. It was thick--not to mention large--but Jonathan was a damn skeleton. Still, he had Ed’s sweater, and Edward himself would provide some heat just by occupying the same bed. 

_ And I am going to pointedly ignore, _ Ed thought,  _ how my heart skipped a beat at that mental image. _

“Alright, here you go,” said Ed as he entered the bedroom. Not giving Jonathan time to protest, Ed unfurled the blanket into the air and let it gently settle over Jonathan’s reclining form. He grinned. “Feeling cozy?”

Jonathan couldn’t answer that question, and not because he didn’t feel “cozy.” 

“You don’t have to tuck me in like I’m a child. What next, you’ll teach me how to ride a bike?” 

He was only grumbling to keep up appearances. He was cozy. And tired. Jon also recalled that he was never tucked in, nor did he ever learn to ride a bike — he hadn’t known either of his parents. In fact, most of the rogues that Jon could think of had poor childhoods. He wondered for a moment what Edward’s was like. He could always ask — the man was right there — but he knew that if anyone asked  _ him _ that question, they’d be writhing on the floor screaming within seconds. And so he didn’t. 

Instead, Jon pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes. He probably looked like a mummy or some ghoul, but eh, what could he do? He was  _ cozy. _

  
  


Ed laughed. “I learned how to ride a bike by watching the other kids; I haven’t the foggiest idea of how to teach someone else.” 

After pulling his gloves off, Ed began unbuttoning his shirt. Jonathan had changed in front of him, so Ed figured partial nudity (for a purpose) was no longer so taboo. Still, Jonathan’s eyes were closed, and that made it easier.

“And besides,” Ed continued as he stepped out of his pants, “I think you’re more the type to ride a horse. What an intimidating sight  _ that _ would be, the Scarecrow on horseback…”

With clothes thrown over an armchair and pajama pants on, Ed headed for the lightswitch. “If you need anything during the night, just wake me up.” He glanced at Jonathan, who looked for all the world like he was nothing but a head on a pillow.  _ Cute, _ Ed thought before he could stop himself. 

With his hand on the switch, Ed asked, “All set for now, then?”   
  


Jonathan listened to the sound of rustling and assumed that Edward was changing. He had to consciously keep his eyes shut. “I did ride a horse, you know,” he mentioned tiredly. “My very first Arkham break. I stole it from a cop, ha!” 

He opened his eyes. “All set. Good night, Edward.”

Ed filed that tidbit away for later--he would have to see if there was any footage of the incident he could dig up.

“Good night, Jonathan.” Ed flicked the lights off.

\---

Some part of Ed knew he was dreaming, knew that none of this was really happening, knew that these things had  _ already _ happened, but it couldn’t help him escape the dream--the nightmare.

_Eddie lay on the stairs, the edge of each step pressing against his narrow back and legs as he tried to make himself smaller. He wanted to run; he had nowhere to run. Couldn’t barricade himself up in his room: the door had been taken off its hinges. Couldn’t lock himself in the bathroom: the key was on_ **_his_** _keyring._

_ Eddie couldn’t escape from  _ **_him. He_ ** _ was yelling at him, face ruddy with fury and drink. Tears ran down Eddie’s face.  _ **_He_ ** _ had never been this angry with him before, and  _ **_he_ ** _ bellowed and raged. _

_ It happened in the blink of an eye. _

_ It happened in slow motion. _

**_He_ ** _ swung his leg back at the same time Eddie dragged himself a step higher, trying to get away.  _ **_His_ ** _ boot connected with Eddie’s knee, hard. _

**_Crunch._ **

_ Eddie screamed loud enough to taste blood. _

And the nightmare repeated.

* * *

Jonathan was a light sleeper, so it didn't take long for him to awaken at the sound of shuffling and... whimpering? He cracked open his eyes and looked over to Edward, but saw nothing. He scoffed to himself and turned over to fumble with the light switch.

He blinked at the sudden brightness in the room, then put on his glasses. Finally, he could see clearly that Edward was having an obvious nightmare. Jonathan thought to wake him, but... it didn't hurt to observe for a moment, did it? It was research. 

He watched the other man squirm in the bed, mumbling to himself. Jonathan tried to make out the words in order to find out what scared Edward so, but couldn't. He must have been in a trance with fascination, as Jonathan startled when Edward actually yelped... loudly. 

Time to wake him up, he supposed. Jonathan hesitated a moment before grabbing Edward's shoulders with both hands and shaking him. "Edward?  _ Edward! _ It's just a nightmare."

  
  


Edward awoke with a gasp, his eyes wide and frantic. He seemed not to realize that he had seized both of Jonathan’s wrists--and was holding onto them almost tightly enough to hurt.

“J-Jonathan? What--?”

Then it hit him. He’d been having a nightmare-- _ the _ nightmare--and he had woken Jonathan up. And then Jonathan had woken  _ him _ up. 

_ Well, isn’t that just something? _

“I-I--” Ed blinked back tears.  _ “God. _ God  _ fucking _ damn it.”

What else could he say?

  
  


Jonathan frowned as Edward’s eyes filled with tears. Comforting others was not his forte. His forte was quite the opposite, actually. 

He tried to channel the old psychiatrist in him. “Calm down, it’s alright.” 

He slowly pried his hands from Edward’s grip before his wrists broke. He hesitated a moment. “....Want to talk about it? It can stay between us...” He tried to give a smile, “Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

  
  


The combination of Jonathan’s words and his unsettling attempt at a smile was more than Ed could handle, and he began laughing. He laughed until his body shook, until tears rolled down his face, until his laughter sounded more like sobbing.

Then, as though someone had pulled a plug, Ed fell silent. He stared up into Jonathan’s eyes with a blank expression, cheeks wet and copper hair a wreck. When he spoke, his usually-bombastic voice was a monotone.

“Where do we start, Doctor?”

  
  


Jon frowned in confusion as Edward started laughing. At him? He didn’t like that. But then tears began to roll down Edward’s cheeks, and he understood. He understood just fine. 

The poor thing looked a mess, and Jonathan felt a pang of sympathy hearing Edward’s meek, cracked voice. 

“Begin at the beginning, of course. What was the dream about?”

  
  


“It…it was about injuring my knee. When I was a child.” Ed’s voice shrank to a whisper. “I t-tried to run, but...my timing was wrong.” His lips curled into an empty smile. “I was stupid.”

  
  


Jonathan hesitated before gently placing a hand on Edward's shoulder. "I was a clumsy kid, too. It happens."

He pulled his hand away. "And why were you running? Just a game?"

  
  


In that moment, Ed wished that Jonathan could just read his mind. He’d readily lay himself bare beneath the doctor’s hands, let the Scarecrow flip through his psyche as though it was nothing but a coffee-table book, if only he didn’t have to speak any of it out loud. Maybe Jonathan would even enjoy taking his innermost self apart. Would the man write a paper afterwards?  _ ’Dissection of a Genius,’ _ by J. Crane? It had a good ring to it. 

Ed realized he was laughing again, wheezing almost-silently. God, he must look as insane as the Joker. Had it ever been this bad? And  _ why _ was it so bad  _ now _ ?

WIth a deep (if shuddering) breath, Ed concluded that there were too many variables to be able to discern which had caused this outcome. How bothersome. At least he’d stopped laughing.

Which meant he could answer Jonathan. 

“I…I wasn’t playing a game, no.” A pause as Ed swallowed. “I was trying to back away from my father.”

  
  


An interesting development. Both the laughing as well as the answer. 

“Your father? Now why would you do that?” He asked, as softly as he could. Because he already knew the answer.

Jonathan never had to run from his granny — she found other ways to torture him, and he’d always felt backed into a metaphorical corner anyway. But he did have to run from others. His bullies, the cops.... Batman. 

The physical scars as well as the mental would last him ‘til the grave.

  
  


_ You _ know  _ why _ , Edward wanted to sob.  _ Why force me to say it aloud? _

It was often said that Scarecrow was one of the more sadistic Rogues; Ed tended to doubt that. Jonathan Crane’s interest in a screaming test subject could be interpreted as sadism, but Ed had always considered this fascination with fear to be something born of cold, scientific intellectualism. What kind of man enjoyed seeing other humans cry with fear, begging for a mercy that would not be granted?  _ Certainly not Crane, _ Ed had thought.

Now, however, Ed was no longer sure that was the correct answer to the riddle of the Scarecrow. Being watched--analyzed--by the man himself, pinned by those chilling blue eyes…

Even if Jonathan was genuinely trying to help him  _ (out of what? The goodness of his heart?),  _ Ed found Jonathan terrifying. He’d been wary of Crane before, but this was different. Something had changed, and Ed was…was  _ scared _ . He was  _ afraid _ of Jonathan. Of what Jonathan could  _ do _ .

So why did Ed want to pull him closer? Why did he want to talk to him, to confess all his pathetic fears and  _ feelings _ to him? Edward was supposed to be an enigma, one that was impossible to solve. He shouldn’t want to be puzzled out, taken apart, sorted through, rearranged,  _ seen _ . 

He didn’t need  _ fixing _ , he wasn’t  _ broken _ .

_ Hmm. Your leg says otherwise. What a worthless riddle you are. _

Curling into himself, Ed spoke in a whisper. “Because he hit me. Beat me. Hurt me.”  _ Despised my existence. Hated that I was his one, his only child. Regretted that I was alive. _

_ And made me feel the same. _

  
  


Jonathan stayed silent, but what Edward didn't know was that it took a lot of effort for Jon to bite back a disgusted sound. Not at Edward, but at his father. 

Jon tried to forget his own past -- he tries so hard to this day. He tries to forget the suffering he faced at the hands and mind of his great grandmother. Jon didn't think he could bear to tell anyone, not even Edward (despite laying his fears out in front of Jonathan), that many of his scars had been due to some elderly woman. Edward would laugh. How weak does one have to be to cave under the hand of an old lady?

But they didn't know. They didn't know the evil that she was capable of, and they never would, thanks to Jonathan. 

The silence had lapsed for too long. He let in a breath, "But you hurt him back, right? He learned his lesson..." 

Jonathan understood, even if Edward didn't realize it. There are two types of abused people in this world: those who continue the cycle of violence and teach their abusers or anyone else who comes near them a lesson, and those who would never touch a soul because no one deserves to go through what they did. Jonathan reckoned that he, Edward, and all the other rogues in town were the latter. Would they be villains if they were not? 

Killing your abuser doesn't take your pain away, but it sure as hell eases it.

  
  


Ed shrugged a shoulder. “Oh, yes. Eventually, I did. Killing my father was the last thing I did before... _ committing _ to the Rogue lifestyle.” 

It was a stupid, foolish thing to tell Scarecrow, but Ed couldn’t bring himself to care. His voice was flat when he continued. “On the worst days, I think that it wasn’t enough. That I didn’t make him suffer enough, didn’t make him learn anything.”

_ And I want everyone else to suffer in his place. Die with my name on their lips, hating me. Fearing me. Because I am so much better than them. _

  
  


"Hm," Jonathan hummed. "Sometimes I wonder myself if I've made those who've wronged me suffer enough. Do we ever make people suffer enough to learn their lesson? I think they're too stupid...."

Edward and he were more alike than he initially thought. Jonathan didn't know if he liked that or not.

  
  


“Perhaps. But you’re not stupid, at least.” The words had slipped from Ed’s mouth before he could stop them.  _ High praise from someone who calls himself a genius. Too high, in fact; tone it down, Nygma! _

“At any rate,” Ed continued, flustered, “I believe that toxin of yours causes plenty of suffering.” 

This time Ed managed to swallow what he knew was an unwise thing to say. Still, a small, self-destructive part of him wanted to know, to ask:  _ have you ever wanted--not just considered, but  _ wanted _ \--to dose me? Or was I not even worth your curiosity? _

He wasn’t sure which answer would have been worse.

  
  


"Yes, I designed it that way. After many attempts, of course," Jonathan removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes before putting them back on. He could feel that this conversation was starting to run too long, and he would start to get snappy. He'd never been able to hold a lengthy conversation--it always started to feel inane after a while.

"It will be morning soon. Might as well get up..." Jonathan then remembered that he could not get up. He gave Edward an awkward pat on the shoulder. "Make yourself some coffee. Put this nightmare behind you, and move forward. All we can do is move forward."

  
  


Ed managed a tired smirk. “I don’t drink caffeine. It makes me...jittery.” He slid out of the bed, the phantom touch of Jonathan’s hand still lingering on his shoulder. 

Shrugging on his robe, Ed added, “But I’m sure I have a can of instant coffee left over from whenever Harley visited last. Do you...want a mug?”

  
  


That didn't surprise him. Edward was seemingly jittery anyway. 

"I'd love one, actually."

Jonathan's been addicted to coffee since his college days. He used to study relentlessly -- day and night, and he'd needed the caffeine to push himself that far. Now, not only is he less than amicable on a good day anyway, but nobody wants to see him when he hasn't had his coffee. Which is why Jonathan was quite surprised that he hadn't strangled Edward yet for waking him up. Or worse.

  
  


“I’ll be back soon, then,” Ed said. “Yell if you need something.” He yawned as he headed for the hall, only to pause at the threshold.

“The pharmacy near here doesn’t open for a few hours yet, which means no crutches for you until perhaps 11. With that said,” Ed continued cautiously, “you may want to consider how we are going to manage your… _ bathroom activities _ until then.”

Not giving Jonathan a chance to respond, Ed strode off in the direction of his kitchen.  _ This day can only become more awkward, _ he thought with a sigh.

  
  


_ Fuck,  _ Jonathan thought. Could he hold it? Probably not, it had to have been at least a full day. And he was a doctor (of some kind), he knew that worse things would happen if he tried to prevent the inevitable. 

And now that he thought about it..... he did need to. To hell with it, he’d hop on one foot. The injury was dressed, what could happen? 

However, he would wait until Edward returned. He was at least not stupid enough to attempt that without someone making sure he got there fine.

Jonathan reminded himself never to break his leg again.


	4. Chapter 4

In the kitchen, Ed was waiting for the coffee to brew and rinsing out one of his few mugs. It had gotten dusty since he’d last used it, and though he logically knew that a bit of dust wouldn’t kill Jonathan (the man stuffed his costume with  _ straw, _ for god’s sake), Ed saw no reason why Jon should have to drink out of a dirty mug.

_ He wouldn’t even notice one way or the other, _ said that damnable little voice in Ed’s head.  _ You’re always trying to please people, as though that will get them to like you. Pathetic. _

Ed bit the inside of his cheek as he poured the coffee with a white-knuckled hand.

_ Are you playing housewife because you have a crush on him? All those people that called you a freak were right. _

“Shut up,” said Ed very quietly. “For five minutes, just shut up. Please.”

Silence--though it felt more mocking than cooperative. 

Whatever. Ed would take what he could get.

Recomposing himself, Ed made his way back to the bedroom, coffee in hand. “I hope you don’t mind it black,” he said as he sidled through the doorway. 

  
  


Jon allowed a look of.... something akin to contentment, to cross his face. 

“I take it black, actually,” and nodded his thanks as he took it. 

With his free hand, Jon tapped nervously on his dressed leg. “Ah....” he placed the mug on the nightstand, “I actually need your help with something. Don’t you dare worry over me like a mother hen — not that I think you would — but I... need to use your restroom. Just stand there, look pretty, and make sure I don’t fall as I attempt to do this on my own.” 

With that, he cautiously swung both legs over the side of the bed, and pushed himself up onto one foot.

  
  


_ ’Look pretty?’ _ Ed thought. He knew Jonathan was simply attempting to--to lighten the mood, make things less awkward, but it made his heart speed up all the same. *Now is not the time for this,* he told himself.  _ You need to assist your...is _ friend  _ the right word? _

Tightening his robe around his waist, Ed stepped back out into the hallway. He gave Jonathan an overdramatic, gentlemanly bow, one arm behind his back, the other outstretched towards the bathroom. “After you then, doctor.”

Jonathan gave a small scoff and held back a grin. Edward was quite an eccentric roommate he found himself with. Of all the people... 

He definitely felt a blush across his pallid face as he grabbed onto the closest anchor — the edge of the dresser — and hopped a bit, to test his balance. He must look completely ridiculous. And how can someone fear you once they’ve seen you this way? Jonathan shook that thought away, decided to suck it up, and made his attempt to cross the room. 

Just before Jonathan reached the door he nearly lost balance, and quickly swung his arms forward to latch onto the doorframe. 

He looked at Edward, “Don’t say a goddamn word.” 

He slowly turned through the door, still holding onto the doorframe, and with a hand against the wall to steady himself, Jonathan made it the rest of the way to the bathroom without incident. 

Before locking the door, Jonathan said, “No need to wait around for me to come back out. If I need....help, I’ll holler.” 

And with that he shut the door. Maybe a bit too hard.

“Understood,” Edward said to the closed door before beating a hasty retreat back to the bedroom.  _ No need to hear any...sounds. _

Since he would have to wait to shower, Ed went about selecting his clothes for the day. No flamboyant suits, as he’d be going to the pharmacy to purchase crutches...hm…

Ed was finding it hard to think. His brain seemed fixated on the blush that had colored Jonathan’s pale face. It had made him appear so much more...human.

_ Stop right there _ , Ed told himself, shaking his head at though to dislodge the traitorous thought.  _ Jonathan is the Scarecrow, and I very much doubt that he would appreciate being thought of as a mere human. _

As Ed pulled a dark green coverall out of his closet and placed it on the armchair, he tried to focus on recalling all of the various crimes Jonathan had committed. He could remember every one of them, but they only made him realize what a pointless endeavor it was to judge his fellow Rogue. 

After all, the Riddler was as much a criminal as the Scarecrow was.  _ Neither _ of them were good people. Ed could not consider himself more human and Jonathan more monstrous. 

Besides, didn’t human beings make for the best monsters?

Jonathan realized once he was inside the bathroom that he might as well make as much use of being up and in here as he could. The more he moved back and forth between the bathroom and the bed, the more strain would be on his leg, which meant it would take longer to heal. Jonathan had played this game before — he’s broken plenty of bones and some more than once over. 

However, he decided it best to at least ask Edward first. The man seemed a bit anal-retentive (though Freud be damned). After he did his business and washed his hands, he opened the door and called down the hall to Edward. 

“Edward, I need to use your shower,” Jonathan thought a moment, “If that’s alright,” he added. “I guess I’ll need to use the other stuff in here, too..... And do you have a spare toothbrush by any chance?” 

By God, Jonathan felt like a child asking Edward for everything. He hated being doted on, and preferred to be independent and alone. And he was sure Edward must hate it too. But then again, there wasn’t a lot he could do.  _ Except maybe insist he take you home. You’d figure it out. _

Jonathan considered that thought, but...realistically it just wouldn’t do. Jonathan would take healing faster and getting back on the streets than being by himself. And Edward’s place was nicer than his by a mile. Imagine choosing a crack house over the Ritz — Jonathan couldn’t. 

And all that aside, Jonathan had a tendency to forget to take care of himself when he was wrapped up in his work. But his work wasn’t here, and Jonathan was keenly aware that he was sleeping directly beside another man now. It felt important to take care of himself.

Ed sighed into his sock drawer. He really hadn’t thought this sudden cohabitation thing through, had he? Lifting his head, he yelled,    
  


“Use whatever you need to, Jonathan. I’ll...” Ed pulled a face. “I’ll just get us both new toothbrushes when I pick up your crutches.”

_ Which I ought to do once Jonathan is out of the shower, as there won’t be any hot water left for me, anyway. Damn this apartment’s water tank. _ He tossed a pair of socks and underwear atop the coveralls before shrugging out of his robe.  _ Perhaps I’ll hose myself off at my warehouse… _

“Oh, and do try to avoid clogging the drain with straw while you’re in there.” 

  
  


Jonathan pulled a face at the straw comment, as well as the thought of using Edward’s toothbrush, but said nothing and shut the door. 

He did his business first, and with great care (but still a bit painfully) he peeled off his clothes and turned on the shower. 

Jonathan took Navy showers. He hardly cared about sustainability — the thought was laughable — but his childhood and his time at college had taught him to shower quickly and efficiently. He didn’t have time to stand around and enjoy the water running. 

His leg made the whole process difficult, but he was in and out in under 3 minutes, faster than the water had time to warm up. 

While in the shower, Jonathan had scoffed at how nice everything in here was, at least by his standards. Fancy, nice smelling soaps with hair treatment for stuff like “color & volume,” whatever that did. Jonathan was never picky, he just tended to steal dollar store 3-in-1 when he robbed a place. Had to get that stuff somehow. 

He got dressed again and brushed his teeth. The whole process maybe took 10 minutes. 

Leaving the bathroom and making his way back to the room, he started talking with the hope that Edward was still within earshot, “If you’re going out, I’m coming with you. I don’t intend on following you around but I need to stop at my place. This living situation will not work if I don’t at least have a bag of my things.”

Could he just be left there? No, he didn’t think so, he’d convinced himself. He was too vulnerable in this state to be alone. Too many people wanted him dead. Edward served well as an extra layer of protection. 

“You don’t need to buy me anything.”  _ If _ he was even buying.

Edward’s eyebrows had risen when the sound of running water had stopped after only a few minutes, but he’d schooled his expression back into one of normalcy by the time Jonathan’s voice rang down the hall. Gathering his clothes for the day into his arms (making certain to keep a hold on his underwear), Ed responded, 

“Very well. A shower for me, then we’ll be off to the pharmacy and your hideout of horrors.” He paused, licking his lips nervously as a thought occurred to him. “Does your ‘bag of things’ happen to include the components for your toxin, by any chance? I know that your work is important to you, but I...I can’t say that I have much of a desire to be the guinea pig for your latest concoction.”

“Well I wouldn’t use it on  _ you,” _ he said a bit snappily as Edward passed him in the hallway. “I have test subjects for that sort of thing. But I actually won’t be bringing my equipment, anyway. Too much stuff, too much could go wrong. But that doesn’t mean I won’t bring  _ some  _ fear toxin with me. A supply of full syringes.” He felt naked without his precious toxin somewhere nearby. Unsafe. Twitchy. 

With his leg broken he couldn’t exactly go “out in the field,” as one might call it. If he were at his place he’d spend his days healing running solitary experiments and improving the formula. But that required beakers, test tubes, centrifuges, tubing. Transferring it all to Edward’s apartment just didn’t make a lick of sense. 

Maybe he could read. But that too would require bringing a shelf’s worth. He sped through books quickly even when he had something else to worry about. 

Jonathan sighed and reminded himself once more not to break his leg again. 

“Care if I make something in your kitchen while you’re busy?”   
  


“Ah...feel free,” Edward said, stepping into the bathroom. He slumped against the wall, hugging the bundle of clothes to his chest.  _ You’re being ridiculous, _ * Ed told himself.  _ It’s just a few syringes. Better those than the entire laboratory. _

_ Fine, but don’t come screaming to me when you wake up with a needle in your neck, _ quipped the nasty little voice in his head.

“I--” Ed cleared his throat. “I believe there’s a box of granola bars in one of the cupboards. And more coffee if you want it. I’ll be out soon.”

Ed was quick to shed his pajamas and enter the shower, letting the water beat against his skull. But much as he wanted it to, the din could not drown out the thought he had been trying to suppress:  _ if you view Jonathan as a friend, it will hurt so much more when he turns on you. And he _ will  _ turn on you. No one would blame him for it, either. Because you’re you and he’s him. _

Wash, rinse, repeat. 

* * *

Jonathan did help himself to another cup of coffee. He had to check all the cupboards before he found the granola bars. They'd hold him over fine -- he hardly ate anyway. 

He finished both and limped his way back to the bedroom. While Edward was still in the shower he gauged his appearance in the mirror. Edward had given him a sweater and drawstring pants to sleep in. They were both too short and too big on him. The clothes hung off his thin frame, and rode up over his wrists and ankles. Jon sat on the bed and put his dirty old boots back on, then looked in the mirror once more. The ensemble was atrocious, but it'd do. If anyone so much as looked at him funny while they were out, Jon would be happy to ruin their day. 

Edward had been worried about Jon bringing his work into the apartment. He was worried Jon would use it on him, which was a fair enough fear to have. 

There were a lot of misconceptions about the Scarecrow. That he was crazy, or maniacal, or backstabbing. Jonathan wasn't  _ insane _ , he was cool and calculating and intelligent. He was a doctor and a scientist. As a rogue, it was bad form to turn on another rogue who'd helped you or worked with you -- that was just the rule. If Jonathan went around injecting fellow rogues with fear toxin not only would he probably be dead within a week but if he ever needed help again, then there would no longer be a person on this earth who would do that for him. He wasn't a complete idiot. 

But, he did nothing to quell those rumors either. Gossip like that generated fear and kept people in their place, and their place was away from Jonathan. But no rogue could attest to those rumors being true, and so people still became his allies. It was actually a nice place that Jonathan found himself in, and he'd like to keep it that way. So while  _ not  _ torturing Edward was a way of thanking him for his kindness, Jonathan decided to say nothing to ease his fears. Not yet.

As he was sure Jonathan was eager to acquire a pair of crutches, Ed tried not to take too long in the shower. He was uncertain if he had succeeded or not, but he made up for it by dressing quickly. 

Pulling a mothball out of the pocket of his dark green coveralls, Ed returned to his (the?  _ their? _ ) bedroom in order to fetch his work-boots. He stopped upon spotting Jonathan and his own reflection in the warped mirror which hung on the wall.

“Well,” Ed chuckled, mood lifting as he shoved his boots on, “aren’t we quite the fashionable pair?”

Jonathan sniffed, giving himself one last up and down in the mirror before turning to Edward. "I suppose--" 

He gawked at the other man's appearance. " _ What _ are you wearing?" 

Jonathan had never seen Edward so dressed down, besides his nightwear of course. Jonathan would say the coveralls suited him equally fine, but he did have low standards. 

"You intend to go out in that?"

Jonathan didn't have a problem with it (not at all). He mentally kicked himself. But Edward didn't seem like the type to want to be seen in public in anything less than a 3-piece suit.

Edward couldn’t help but laugh at the astounded expression on Jonathan’s face. “Not even I can wear a suit every time I leave the house, Doctor. I’d stick out like a sore thumb.” 

He paused to lean into his closet and remove a wallet from within a small compartment in the wall.  _ Fake ID and a fair amount of cash. Good. _

“After all,” Ed continued, “most people around here work in the factories. A suit would be conspicuous, but no one would look twice at a man dressed in coveralls, green or not.” 

Tucking his wallet into a pocket of the aforementioned coveralls, Ed looked to Jonathan and asked, 

“Ready to head out, then?”

Jonathan nodded and followed Edward out the door. They headed back toward the car, and while Jonathan slowly and carefully limped through the apartment building, he did his best to take a closer look at what Edward was wearing without catching the man's eye, who kept looking back and stopping in order to make sure he was alright. 

Jonathan supposed Edward was right -- most of Gotham was of the working class. He couldn't personally attest to seeing men in suits casually walking down the street, but then again Jon didn't casually walk down the street to see any either. However, when Jon did want to blend in he simply wore jeans and a button-up shirt. You wouldn't catch him in coveralls any time soon. He felt they looked a little...ridiculous. 

Jonathan ignored the thought that Edward would probably suit anything he wore. 

However, he was consistently, vividly aware of his own attire. He had to consciously keep himself from hunching his shoulders in a poor, instinctive attempt to keep his face hidden from anyone who might catch him like this. 

"Thanks again for the clothes," he mumbled, "I'll give them back after I get my things."

Ed waved a hand as though to shoo Jonathan’s thanks away. “You’re welcome, but you needn’t thank me for lending you such ill-fitting pyjama pants.” Then, before he could stop himself: ”I think the sweater suits you, though.”   
  
As Jonathan maneuvered through Edward’s apartment door, Ed internally berated himself.  _ Stop making such asinine comments, Nygma! What has gotten into you? _ He could only blame his sudden and newfound attraction to the Scarecrow, which promised a whole world of further complications.   
  
Locking the door behind Jonathan, Ed coughed and said, “Are you going to attempt going down the stairs alone? Do be careful: one broken limb is bad enough.”   
  


Jonathan's patience was wearing thin -- not at Edward, but at his goddamn leg and every burst of pain that shot up his nerves with each step. The only thing that made what Jonathan said next softer than a snap was Edward's compliment. 

"Don't you have a damn elevator in this place? I'm still surprised you haven't taken it upon yourself to force the staff at the Ritz to give you permanent residence. Fit for a king such as yourself," he sniffed. "I'm guessing it's not in your power to carry me, so yes, I'll go down myself. One step at a time, such as it goes with everything... I will require your arm, though. For balance."

Ed was quick to appear at Jonathan’s side and offer the requested arm--as well as take note of Jonathan’s pinched expression. He’d been planning on making a witty comment about the Ritz, but Edward instead found himself saying,

“Are you going to need stronger pain medication? I can forge a prescription to give to the pharmacist if need be.”

Jonathan grabbed Edward's arm -- perhaps a bit too tightly -- and eventually grabbed the banister when they reached the staircase. The pain was making his head ache. Jonathan was not fond of taking medications of any kind, being the kind of doctor who believed that powering through was what was best for the body, but it was hard to even focus. Jon hated that, he needed his mind clear as crystal. 

"Perhaps that would be best, for both our sake. Now prepare yourself." 

With that vague warning, he lifted his broken leg and placed 100% of his weight on both Edward's arm and the banister, using it to jump down onto the first step. Wasn't so bad, except that there was a whole flight more to go. He waited for Edward to move along with him, and paused between each step to situate himself.

He was taller than Edward by several inches, but was so thin he probably weighed the same as the other man, if not less. Either way, he worried Edward might be left with a hand-shaped print on his arm. If so he'd never hear the end of it, he was sure.

While Jonathan resituated himself in between steps, Ed flexed his arm as much as he could with Jonathan still clutching it. His muscles were sure to be sore after this, but Ed supposed he could hardly complain: compared to Jonathan’s broken leg, the strain on Ed’s arm was nothing. Still...

“Jonathan,” Edward said after the man had descended another stair. “For both our sakes, we cannot continue to do this. My warehouse is not quite as comfortable as this apartment, but it at least has elevators. I would ask you to consider allowing me to relocate us there.”

Jon looked at Edward pointedly over the rim of his glasses. 

"You own a place with an elevator and you brought me to a place with stairs instead." It was half a question. Genius that he was, Jonathan wished Edward would use his brain once and a while.

Ed resisted the urge to grind his teeth together. “Comfort was on the forefront of my mind when I brought you here. Besides, the warehouse is not exactly…” He took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow sigh.

“It is less than ideal for a multitude of reasons, especially given your injury. But I see now that just about anything would be better than having to traverse these damned stairs.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jon listened patiently and quietly as Edward rattled on about nothing while they drove to the pharmacy, occasionally giving an "mhm" to show he was still listening. His mood had improved somewhat now that he'd been able to sit and rest his leg, as short as that rest had been. The pounding feeling had subsided a bit. 

When they parked Jonathan asked, "Now, should I wait here, or would you like to help me limp my way inside too?"

Ed shrugged a shoulder. “It’s up to you. I’m more than capable of acquiring crutches and medication by myself, speaking of which…”    
  
Reaching over Jonathan, Ed popped open the glove box and withdrew a pen and stack of papers. He rifled through them before selecting the proper one on which to forge a prescription, then scrawled the appropriate type and dosage in his best nigh-unreadable doctor’s cursive.   
  
“However,” Ed continued as he returned the pen and papers to their rightful place, “if there is anything else you might need or want, you ought to be the one to pick such things out.”

Jon sighed and popped open the car door, maneuvering to climb out, "And you don't think they'll recognize either of us?" 

Jon always wore his costume out, or almost always. He very rarely left his hideout when he wasn't committing a heinous crime. When he intended to kidnap someone for experiments, he put on the best disguise he could -- a pleasant professorial look. It was surprising that no one on the street recognized him anyway from mugshots and wanted posters. Guess they didn't care enough. Still, he was worried. Especially for Edward, who clearly seemed to want that recognition and wore little to hide his face. 

But even while asking the question, Jon knew two things: most Gotham citizens were so thick in the head it would probably stop a bullet (it didn't really, he's checked himself), and Edward looked too... _ normal _ in his current outfit. A nice, handsome working-class man.  _ Handsome? _ the voice in the back of his head teased. Jon turned his head to hide the light blush.

“It seems unlikely,” Edward said as he rounded the car to stand by Jonathan. “And if anyone does…”

A strange shadow flitted across Ed’s face, his green eyes darkening for a moment. “They had best keep their mouths shut.”

He offered his arm to Jonathan. “Shall we?”

"We shall." 

Jonathan grabbed his arm and they made the trek inside. Jon couldn't wait to get support for his leg that wasn't Edward and standing on one foot. Which reminded him.

"Before anything, I'd think it wise that you grab the crutches first. I am  _ not  _ walking like this any more than I have to,  _ especially  _ in public."

“Agreed, said Edward. He glanced at the pharmacist’s counter, where an elderly woman was occupying the young pharmacist’s attention.  _ How convenient. _

  
  
While he and Jonathan were not doing anything illegal (save for merely existing as wanted criminals), Ed wanted as little attention on their little duo as possible. Still, before he went off to fetch the crutches, he couldn’t help but quip,

“While I’m gone, just hold onto a shelf and consider what kind of toothpaste you want.” 

  
  


Jonathan latched onto the closest shelf and watched Edward walk off. He already knew the answer to that, the cheapest one. Toothpaste tasted the same to him, but if Edward was going to let him have his choice, perhaps this time he could let himself be choosy. Maybe cinnamon flavor. 

Nervously, Jon looked around to make sure no one was eyeing him funny. Thankfully the pharmacy was relatively empty, and the cashier had only glanced at him before going back to fiddling with the cigarette packs stocked behind the counter.   
  


Ed moved quickly, knowing how much easier crutches would make life for Jonathan--and himself. 

He found the aisle they were down without any issues, but as he selected a pair of lightweight (and hopefully durable) crutches, Ed had the eerie feeling that he was being watched. 

As nonchalantly as he could manage, Edward looked down towards the opposite end of the aisle. Aside from himself, there were only two other people occupying it: a woman in coveralls much like his own, eyeing the wrist braces; and a man wearing a dark grey hoodie who stood with a box of bandaids in one hand and a package of ace bandages in the other. 

Neither appeared to be interested in him, so Ed could only hope his unease had been the result of his imagination. 

Giving his head a slight shake, Edward turned and made his way back towards Jonathan. 

  
  


When Edward returned, Jonathan took the crutches gratefully. 

"Thanks," he said, looking Edward in the eye. "I guess the most important things I need next to help are the pain meds and a better leg brace than the makeshift one you've put together -- I commend your skills at dressing a broken bone with limited resources, but I'm afraid the break will heal wrong if I don't get some FDA-approved support." 

It wasn't the first time Jon had to use crutches, so he straightened up and made his way across the aisles. "Let me see that prescription you wrote." He stopped and held out a hand for it. He was curious to see which medication he'd chosen. Jonathan was the one prescribing medications like these once upon a time.   
  


Following after Jonathan, Edward handed the paper over while trying to combat the blush that was threatening to color his cheeks.  _ Damn those blue eyes. _

Though Jonathan’s thanks was appreciated, Ed hadn’t expected direct eye contact, and so had not braced himself for it. He usually had no difficulty with such things, but Jonathan was...the object of Ed’s affection. His  _ crush. _

Not that Jonathan could ever know that. Edward was more than intelligent enough to realize that their little  _ partnership _ would dissolve (read “end in ruin”) if Jonathan became aware of Edward’s feelings for him. After all, he was the Scarecrow; he wanted others’ fear, their terror, not their...companionship.

Trying to avoid appearing too quiet, Ed again glanced around the store before asking,

“Does the prescription pass muster, Jonathan?”

  
  


Jonathan noticed Edward's blush, but said nothing of it. Jon knew well enough that people thought his stare was cold and unnerving, to say the least. Though he did find some amusement in the reaction. 

Feeling oddly jovial, -- probably due his newfound relief -- Jonathan exaggerated his scrutiny of the piece of paper. "Vicodin... it'll do. You got the doctor handwriting down quite well." 

Being a doctor ( _ former _ doctor, the voice in his head said, he shooed the thought away), there were things Jonathan had to consider. Would the drug react poorly with fear toxin? Was it addictive? Would it slow him down if the need arose? Vicodin was addictive, but it worked wonders, and Jon had never had issues with it. 

He handed it back.

  
  


“Why, thank you Doctor. I’m glad I was able to meet your exacting standards,” Ed joked. It was odd to speak so affably with the Scarecrow, but it was...nice, as well. Very nice.

  
  
“Ehm, In that case,” Ed continued, “I’ll go deliver this to the pharmacist while you select whatever hygiene products you may need.” 

He paused, the sense of being observed once more making the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end. “And keep a lookout for any curious eyes, Jonathan.”

As Ed headed for the pharmacist’s counter, he caught a glimpse of the man in the dark grey hoodie, a few aisles closer than he was before. 

Ed shook off his trepidation and kept walking.

* * *

Jonathan took Edward's advice and did start to browse for other products he might want. He was  _ not  _ going to keep using the other man's soaps and what have you. If in the rare situation that someone were to point out that he and Edward oddly seemed to  _ smell  _ the same because they just so happened to be using all of the same products, he'd probably have to kill them. 

Out of habit, Jon decided on the bare minimum of products. 3-in-1 shampoo, disposable razors, deodorant, $7 cologne. If they did the job, why bother with anything more?

He pondered Edward's odd afterthought:  _ keep a lookout for any curious eyes. _

It was only then that he felt the basic human instinct of being watched. He turned to see that he was, in fact, being stared at. If the man was trying to be subtle he wasn't doing a very good job. He decided to give a threatening stare back to make it clear that he knew. What did he want?

  
  


Paper bag of medication in hand, Ed rounded the corner of the aisle he’d just spotted Jonathan in, already planning to insist that he buy separate shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

“It’s--” *No wonder that your hair looks like straw,* was what Edward had been intending to say, but the words never left his mouth. Instead, he found himself colliding with the man in the grey hoodie. 

It wasn’t much of an impact--neither he nor the other man had been walking all that quickly--but it was enough to dislodge the man’s hood from his head.

Ed’s eyes widened in alarm as he stared at the man--at  _ Victor Zsasz _ \--and Zsasz stared back.

After a long moment, Zsasz spoke. 

“Hello, Enigma. Hello, Doctor.”

  
  


Jonathan froze up. This probably looked  _ very  _ bad. And it  _ was  _ very bad. He was in a vulnerable state -- which he loathed. Now another rogue knew that not only was he weakened with a broken leg, but he was clearly in close cahoots with Edward Nygma. He'd hoped to keep both of those things a secret. Not to mention that his hands were full of products, and he didn't have a drop of fear toxin on him anyway. 

Even  _ further _ , dear Lord, this probably humanized Jonathan in a way that he didn't want anyone to see. Here, he was just a man. 

Jonathan made the mental note that he never wanted to be found in this position again. 

"Zsasz," Jon said lowly, "what do you want? How long have you been watching us?"

  
  


Zsasz blinked, slow and calm. “What do I want?” He said the words as though he had never heard such a question. 

It made Edward shudder. How many people, out of the hundreds Zsasz had killed, had asked him that exact thing? Licking his suddenly-dry lips, Ed glanced at Jonathan, who was preoccupied with glaring at Zsasz.

“I want bandages, I suppose,” Zsasz said at last, holding up the packaged rolls of gauze he held in one hand. “And I was...curious. As to why you two were here. Together.”

*Oh, this is very bad. Very, very bad,* Ed thought. It was bad to have been seen, bad to have been caught without weapons, and bad that none other than Victor Zsasz had been the one to do it.    
  
“But now I see,” Zsasz continued. “Watching the two of you since you entered the store...I see now.”

  
  


Jonathan was disgusted to find that his heart was beating too fast.  _ Fear? No...it couldn't be. _

His hand tightened around the shampoo bottle, and he had to consciously loosen his grip before it burst open. 

"See  _ what?" _ he grit out. 

Zsasz couldn't possibly have enough of a brain to find anything more out between the two of them, could he? Jonathan wasn't sure himself what Edward thought of him at this point. He believed it was all wishful thinking -- in his head. Was he wrong? 

Oh, he didn't like  _ any  _ of this.

  
  


Zsasz shook his head, appearing almost sorrowful. “Two wandering corpses have found each other, but neither one of them can see it.”

  
  
“See  _ what?” _ Edward said, voice pitched high by stress. Were his new feelings for Jonathan so obvious that--

“Allow me to show you.”

Before Ed knew what was happening, Zsasz was behind him, holding a knife to the bare column of his throat.

_ “See?” _ Zsasz whispered, breath hot on Ed’s ear. “Look at the Scarecrow, looking at you. Do you see?”

  
  


Jonathan inhaled sharply.  _ Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

He didn't hear what Zsasz had whispered in Edward's ear, but he assumed it wasn't good. As quickly as he could to avoid Edward any harm, he darted his eyes to the nearest security camera. Was anyone even looking at that? 

He cast his admittedly worried gaze back at the other man. They were both watching him closely. What was going on? 

"Zsasz..." Jonathan warned, "Let him go. Don't do this here or we'll all get into a lot more trouble than we asked for coming here. Whatever you're trying to prove, this isn't the way to do it." 

If Zsasz pressed that knife any closer to Edward's throat, Jonathan would make him pay for it later...slowly and painfully. But all he could do now was his best attempt at negotiation. He tended to be very good at getting his way.

  
  


Ed, for his part, had been finding it difficult to focus on Jonathan’s words. One of the unfortunate side-effects of being what would most likely be described as “a masochist” was that fear and arousal were especially tangled up in his brain, which tended to result in some rather interesting responses to the two. 

The presence of one Jonathan Crane was not helping matters. Ed swallowed roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from Jonathan (and the  _ concern _ scrawled on his face) even when he felt the knife nick his throat just enough to send a trickle of hot blood down his neck.

Then Zsasz made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, and Ed remembered who was holding that knife. Still, he kept his gaze fixed on Jonathan: if he was going to have his throat slashed, Ed would indulge himself by looking into Jonathan’s brilliant eyes as he bled to death.

But as suddenly as the knife had appeared, it was gone.

“I have already proven my point, Doctor,” Zsasz said. “With your aid, of course. Thank you.” He nudged Edward. “Give your thanks to the Scarecrow, Enigma. And to me.”

Ed brought a shaking hand up to the thin cut on his neck. He was in free-fall, adrenaline surging and brain playing catch-up. Why did Zsasz…? Did Jonathan really…?

“T-thank you,” Edward rasped, finally looking away from Jonathan as he bowed his head, ashamed for reasons he could not, would not, name.

He scarcely noticed Zsasz walk away.

  
  


Jonathan was forced to face thoughts and feelings that he hoped he wouldn't have to, especially in public. When Zsasz nicked Edward's throat, he had almost,  _ almost _ , jumped forward -- products and broken leg be damned -- to wrench the knife out of Zsasz's grasp. He merely clenched his jaw instead. 

He was having a hard time reading Edward's face as he stared into Jon's eyes intensely. He noted the other man's reaction when he'd been cut, though. The muted flinch and the barely-audible sharp intake of breath. 

Jonathan only relaxed considerably when Zsasz let go. He watched how Edward's hand shook as he lightly touched at the trail of blood dripping down his neck. 

_ Thank you, _ Edward said to him, voice hoarse. Jon's head was swimming with a mix of confusing emotions. Fear? Concern? Anger? And...something else. Jon couldn't seem to help but  _ enjoy  _ Edward's reaction, too. Something in the back of his head told him that he should do the same to Edward later in a much more pleasant context, what a sadistic thought. 

He gave Zsasz a look of hatred as he walked away. He'd meant it when he said that he'd make him pay later. 

Once they were alone in the aisle again, Jon stepped forward and hesitated a moment before resting a light hand on Edward's shoulder. The other man was avoiding looking at him, now. 

"Edward.... are you alright?"

  
  


Slowly, Ed moved his hand to wipe the blood from off his neck. “Of course, Jonathan,” he said, studying his crimson fingertips, keeping his eyes averted. “I’ve suffered worse injuries while shaving.”

Without thinking, Ed brought his hand up to his lips and slipped his bloodied digits into his mouth. Once he’d swallowed the taste of metal, he wiped his fingers on the leg of his coveralls. 

“Blood leaves the most bothersome stains on green fabric, you know,” Ed commented. Part of him disconnectedly wondered if this was what the doctors at Arkham called a ‘dissociative episode.’

He rubbed at his throat again. 

Jonathan's eyes widened and his breath stuttered as Edward  _ licked  _ his own blood off his fingers.  _ Oh fuck... _ This was not the time or place to think about that. 

Eyes still wide, he looked Edward up and down before shaking his head and clearing his throat. 

"Good. Now if we have everything we need, I'd like to get the hell out of here as soon as possible."

  
  


“That sounds wise,” Edward murmured. His body felt oddly...light. He wanted to attribute it solely to the near-death experience, but with a glance at Jonathan’s too-wide eyes, Ed knew better.

_ Two wandering corpses have found each other... _ That was what Zsasz had said before pressing his knife to Ed’s throat. To make him and Jonathan ‘see it.’ And though Ed was not certain as to what ‘it’ was, exactly--interest, attraction, desire, lust, some mess of twisting emotions--it had been mirrored in Jonathan’s eyes, his body, his voice. Of that Edward was sure.

Ed wanted-- _ needed _ \--time to sit and think about what had just transpired, but there  _ was _ no time: they had to get moving. 

“If you pass me your items, I can purchase them while you wait in the car,” he said, holding his hands out to Jonathan. “I removed the barcode tags from the crutches, so you’re free to take them with you.”

Jon only nodded and gave Edward his handful of products before adjusting the crutches and making his way out and through the automatic doors of the pharmacy.

His movements and thought processes felt almost robotic as he quickly made his way to the passenger door and maneuvered inside, awkwardly tossing the crutches into the backseat.

Finally alone, he let out a shuddering breath and shut his eyes tight, digging the palms of his hands into them. He saw stars behind his lids for a moment before resting his head on the headrest.

What the hell was that. Jonathan was a psychiatrist, he wasn't blind -- though he did have a hard time accepting some truths even if they were plain as day before him. Edward clearly had some kind of feelings for him. Not only that, but the way they both reacted to the knife at Edward's throat made Jonathan think that they would fit so well together that it almost seemed fated. 

It made Jon's shriveled heart ache in a way that he did not enjoy. No one had ever cared for him...ever. The thought that now, maybe someone did, was almost too much to bear. 

And Jon also had to consider something else, too. He had always known that he was gay, but the hatred instilled in him was deep, and seemed impossible to remove. The thought that  _ someone  _ \-- another rogue (that was not Edward, at least) -- now knew of his secret filled him with...fear. Real fear. Fear that his feelings would be exposed for the rest of the world to see, and they would shame and hate him for it. He couldn't do that, not again. And caring for another Gotham rogue, in any way, was extremely dangerous. 

Jon opened his eyes. What on Earth was he supposed to do?


	6. Chapter 6

Ed had paid for the items quickly, there having been only one person in line before him. On one hand, this event was fortunate, as Ed had no desire to linger in the public eye at the moment. 

On the other hand, of course, this meant that he had had no time to catch his metaphorical breath and recover from the… _ revelation _ that Zsasz had forced upon him and Jonathan. 

_ Oh god, Jonathan. _ Ed gripped the plastic bag of toiletries all the tighter when he recalled the storm of emotions he’d seen playing out behind Jonathan’s eyes as Zsasz balanced Ed’s life on the edge of a blade...Jonathan’s sharp inhale when Ed had licked his fingers to rid them of blood...

And now he and Jonathan were going to be alone together for the foreseeable future.  _ Or at least for a very awkward car ride. _ Ed swallowed what might have been either a laugh or a scream as he stepped out of the pharmacy and saw Jonathan waiting in the passenger seat of his car.

_ Might at well get it over with, _ Ed thought as he walked over and swung the driver’s side door open. Briskly, he placed the bag of goods on the backseat, bracing it against the crutches to prevent anything being jostled around. That done, Ed slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door and starting the car. 

Gripping the steering wheel with enough force to turn his knuckles white as he maneuvered the vehicle out of the parking lot, Ed took a deep breath and said,

“You know, I...I wouldn’t have minded having a knife to my throat if you had been the one holding the handle.”

Jonathan had lifted his head when he saw Edward approaching the car, but did not meet his eyes as the other man visibly tightened his grip on the steering wheel out of the corner of Jon's eye. 

He physically bit the tip of his tongue at Edward's confession.  _ Fuck. _ He seemed to silently swear a lot recently, but could anyone blame him? 

He realized that he might've waited a moment too long to say something. Time to bite the bullet. 

"Edward...I must admit that I am at a rare loss for words," he sighed. " _ Damn _ Zsasz, but perhaps he was the push that we both needed, or we'd dance around it until the end of time it seems. Maybe I should thank him..." He wouldn't. 

He folded his hands in his lap and looked at them intensely. "But...Yes. If I'd been the one holding the handle, I don't think I'd have minded, either."

The tension ebbed from Ed’s posture as Jonathan spoke. He felt...relieved? No. He felt  _ happy. _ Giddy, in fact. His interest in Jonathan wasn’t one-sided! 

Then the full impact of the knife comment struck him, and Ed couldn’t fight the blush that unfurled across his face. 

_ “Oh, _ there really is something wrong with me,” Ed giggled, a tinge of hysteria coloring his voice. “Because, Jonathan, the thought of you holding a blade to my neck is  _ terribly _ attractive.” Another laugh. “The ‘doctors’ at Arkham would have a field day.” 

Jonathan couldn't help but smile at that, still looking at his hands in his lap. He laced his fingers together, palms up. 

"They would. But something  _ wrong  _ with you? No." Nothing wrong with a bit of fun. 

It was odd, that Jonathan felt...happy. He was not used to feeling happy -- especially not because he saw happiness in someone else. Edward was practically vibrating in his seat, and  _ he  _ had been the cause. 

Oh my...was that a heartbeat he felt in his chest? He gave a small laugh.

Stopping the car at a red light, Ed turned to look at Jonathan. To see him sitting there, wearing Ed’s sweater, a smile lingering on his lips  _ (what would it be like to kiss them?) _ ...it made Edward’s chest ache in the most bizarre, wonderful way.

“Your laughter makes my pulse quicken,” Ed confessed. “It’s… _ frightening, _ what I feel for you. You terrify me, Jonathan. For so many reasons. And I enjoy that fear.”

Jonathan stared at Edward a long moment before scoffing, still smiling, and turned to look out his window. He shook his head. Edward truly had a way with words. He knew just how to get under Jonathan's skin. 

"You're far too kind to me...."

The truth was, that terrified him, too. Edward held too much power over Jonathan now. He could do anything he wanted to him and Jon would accept it,  _ welcome  _ it. He would let Edward do anything to him if it meant that the other man was happy in the end. 

As much as Jon appreciated the things Edward was saying to him, he almost asked him to stop. For a man who never received compliments in his life, to be showered with them unexpectedly was becoming too much, especially while essentially being trapped with it.

“Perhaps you deserve some kindness, Jonathan,” Ed murmured. He wished his memory truly was eidetic: he wanted to remember these moments with perfect clarity for as long as he lived. 

Out of his peripherals, Ed saw that the light had turned green, and it was with reluctance that he removed his gaze from Jonathan to focus on the road. 

“Ah...and I’m going to need directions to your hideout.”

"It's in Chinatown, one of the more run-down areas -- I forget where specifically, I'll just have to show you as we go." Too bad Jonathan wasn't very good at giving directions. He tended to just know his way there without having memorized the address. 

Jon allowed himself to sit in contentment at Edward's words for a moment. Perhaps for once, he could admit that maybe, just maybe, he did deserve kindness.

* * *

They pulled up to an old brick building on a quiet street. The outside was a bit menacing, and it looked like it might fall apart at any moment. On the way over, Jon had told Edward that his apartment was in the basement of the townhouse. A small, rusted black fence with a gate that reached to just above Jonathan's knees protected his small bit of property, and was a continuation that connected the railings of the staircases going up to the two townhouses on either side. The door to the apartment was deeper below the ground, hidden down a short flight of stairs underneath the stairs of the building to the right. The apartment had at least been graced with a small window at ground level that was protected by black iron bars. The door to the apartment itself had an outside gate of, lo and behold, black bars, followed by a screen door, and then the black wooden door behind it. 

Jonathan guessed that from the outside appearance, Edward would assume that the inside looked equally like shit. Maybe by his standards, perhaps, but Jonathan actually found it quite cozy. It suited his needs just fine. 

He opened the passenger door and reached to the backseat to pull out the crutches. Climbing out, he said over his shoulder, "Before you say anything, it isn't that bad..."

Ed sighed as he shut the door behind him. “I should have known you’d manage to make yourself the monster under the floorboards, Jonathan.” 

He eyed the apartment with some trepidation, but he was in no position to judge: Ed’s own apartment may have been nice by Rogue standards, but his warehouse was...a different story.  _ I suppose Jonathan will see _ that  _ soon enough, _ thought Ed with a twinge of unease. 

Jonathan's short laugh almost sounded like a scoff. "I try." 

He opened the gate for Edward, which squealed on its rusted hinges, and very slowly made his way down the steep steps. The underground doorway did not leave much room for his lanky body, not to mention the crutches and also one Edward. The door had been left unlocked (considering he didn't exactly expect to be gone long that night he'd left), so he pushed it open. 

Flipping the light switch, the entryway and kitchen's lights flickered on with a warm yellow glow. The walls of the basement were more brick, and the wooden floor was in an old-fashioned basket weave pattern. The kitchen was nothing special -- cheap linoleum counter tops and white cabinets and shelves with hardly anything on them. It had all the usual amenities otherwise. The kitchen had a hole in the wall above the counter where one could see through to the living room. On the opposite wall of the kitchen, above the sink, there was the barred window that could be seen outside that was currently letting more light pour in. Jonathan flushed a bit out of embarrassment that the sink was so full with dishes that he'd had to set more empty coffee cups to pile up on the side. 

Jon had no wall decorations to be seen, besides, of course, his framed degrees in the short hallway. 

"Welcome to my humble abode," he said, and moved further into the apartment to turn on the rest of the lights. 

The living room was bare bones in regards to furniture. One couch and one chair, a coffee table, and a very old CRT TV which he never used that sat on top of a pile of books rather than a shelf. However, there was a lab table in the corner where Jon did all of his work. It was piled with books and papers and chemistry equipment. A small room without a door that stuck out from the living room was where Jon had his mattress on the floor, and a trunk at the foot of it housed all his clothes. 

It should also be noted that there were more books... everywhere.

  
  


Walking further in, Ed quietly continued to observe Jonathan’s living space. It felt somehow far more intimate to be allowed into Jonthan’s dwelling than it had been to welcome the man into his home. Ed supposed it was because Jonathan was less ‘open book’ and more ‘forbidden tome bound shut with chains.’

Speaking of books…

“Jonathan,” said Edward, wishing to straighten a leaning pile of paperbacks. “As much as I value knowledge, this amount of books is teetering on the edge of insanity. I do hope you keep a close eye on any candles or bunsen burners you may have, because one stray spark would be...disastrous.”

"There's no such thing as too many books," he said, a little defensively. He'd read them all, some twice or more over -- save for the small pile at the head of his bed that he was slowly moving through. As a child, books were the only thing he found solace in. In a way, he was still the same. "And I don't own candles." 

He went to get a duffel bag to put his belongings in. He grabbed two of the top books from his pile and basically dumped whatever clothes were in the trunk into the bag too, including clothes to sleep in that actually fit. 

Walking back to the living room, he grabbed the bare necessities for his toxin: as many syringes as he could -- both full and empty -- ampules, vials, canisters, bombs, etcetera. The components to make fear toxin were more complicated as he would also require his equipment. He decided to abandon the idea of making more while at Edward's place, as he probably had more than enough to get by anyway. He might've become cranky without being able to work on his precious toxin, but at least he had something to read, he supposed. 

Jonathan set down the now-full bag. "While we're here, is there...anything you would like? To eat, or drink?" 

He walked to the kitchen. 

"I have coffee, tea, for food I have um..." he checked the fridge, "Uh, leftover stew I made the other day, lunchmeat, and eggs." 

He scratched his head at the almost empty fridge and shut the door. "I don't have a dining table either, we'd have to sit on the couch."

Ed tried to banish the pinched expression on his face, he really did, but he simply hadn’t been around Jonathan long enough to have any idea of how edible his cooking was. And Ed had...texture issues. (He tended to lose weight while in Arkham because of this--not that he had much weight to lose.)

“Thank you for the hospitality, but I’m...not particularly hungry at the moment,” said Ed. “Or thirsty.”

He cast his eyes about for a different subject before settling on the duffel bag. “Is there anything that I can help you carry? More books, perhaps? There is plenty of space at my warehouse for more reading material--and whatever else you may require.”

Edward obviously had his doubts about Jonathan's stock of food and drink, which was fair, so he moved on. 

"My equipment is too much and too delicate to move anyway," he sighed. "But grabbing a couple more books would be helpful, thank you. Even though I read slowly, I doubt what I took myself will be enough to hold me over until I heal. I believe I'll be staying with you for quite a while...if you're comfortable with that, of course." 

He paused.

"So we're going to your warehouse then? To stay. No more apartment?"

“No more  _ stairs,” _ Ed specified. He paused, then sighed. “I should have taken you to my warehouse in the first place, but it is...quite unlike my apartment.”

_ Oh, now _ that’s  _ an understatement, _ said that nasty little voice in Edward’s head. Ed fought the urge to bang his skull against a wall. He knew the voice had been too quiet as of late. 

“Anyway,” Ed pushed on. “I...apologize. I know traversing the stairs was  _ unpleasant _ for you, to say the least.”

Jonathan shook his head before Edward had finished. "It certainly wasn't fun, but as you can see, there are stairs to my own place as well which I would've had to traverse on my own had you not been there. You probably thought your apartment was the best choice at the time, and since then, you've tended to my wounds and clothed me. _ I _ apologize for snapping earlier. I was still in a lot of pain." 

He handed the bag to Edward. "And I apologize again for making you do all the heavy lifting, but obviously my hands are tied with these damn crutches...Remind me not to break a leg ever again."

Ed couldn’t help but smile at that. “I will.” He swung the duffel bag over his shoulder. “And thank you, Jonathan, but there’s no need for you to apologize. I’m a bit stronger than I appear.”  _ In more ways than one. _

A faint smile still on his lips, Ed made his way to the door, avoiding stray piles of books in much the same way that he ignored the doctors at Arkham: with great decisiveness. 


End file.
